The Post Mortem Happening
by rocketships-and-radios1
Summary: Society quickly breaks down following the deadly phenomenon of the dead's resurrection, leaving only few survivors to fend against the threat of the walkers - but as one particular group discovers, the dead aren't the only threat. (Set in Manchester, UK)
1. Chapter 1

**The Post Mortem Happening**

**Chapter I**

** 23:57**

_AN: Special thanks to freddyburn for beta reading the chapter!_

The night sky was illuminated by the city itself. Search lights and the glow of distant fires blocked out the stars. Helicopters flew back and forth, circling the area and presumably acting as air support or as evac for the panicked crowd. Other helicopters could be heard in the distance, too – their pilots issuing commands through megaphones informing civilians about the evacuation point in the Manchester City Centre. The megaphones did little to drown out the sound of distant screams and the ever present background noise of moans that rose and fell in waves.

I was stood in one of the many elongated queues, which were separated by short metal barriers and supervised by armed soldiers. Beside me were Mint, Charlie and his younger sister Abigail, who he held close to him. Mint and I were stood directly next to each other with Charlie and Abigail close behind us. I had a hastily filled luggage bag close to my side; Charlie and Mint wore backpacks, and Mint was carrying Abigail's luggage bag, too, which we took turns in holding.

The tension was thick in the air – everyone wanted to be evacuated to somewhere safe. No one said it, but at this stage, everyone knew that we were prepared to execute crimes against humanity and perform sick and inhumane actions that a morally average person would not ever contemplate. Something inside us had snapped since this thing had started. We had seen disgusting acts of senseless cruelty; from fatally injuring store owners and their families and looting of their store, to using the weak, such as children, as live bait, as well as an enemy that every bit of our rational minds screamed should not exist.

I let out a deep sigh. I never liked keeping quiet for too long.

"Where do you think they'll take us?" I asked, facing Mint, although my question was directed towards anyone. He shrugged his shoulders, but thought for a second.

"Someplace safe I'm guessing… countryside maybe?" Mint suggested his usually radiant mint blue eyes now cold and dull. His face was dull too.

"Let's hope. The countryside seems like a good idea…"

"Yeah, after all, they have more guns in the countryside than in the city." Mint replied with a weak grin. I gave a half-hearted laugh in response to the reference, but the weak smile on my face quickly vanished when a bloodcurdling scream filled the polluted air.

"My baby!" followed soon after. Several metres away, a woman was cradling a boy, aged seven or eight perhaps, in her arms. The boy's shirt, as well as the woman's, was almost saturated with blood. He was most likely dead. I stared in shock for a few moments, and in the space of that time a couple of soldiers came to her aid. Judging by their faces, they were wondering the same thing as me—how the hell had he gotten this far inside the barricade without been noticed?

"Everyone, please… m-move along please," ordered a rather nervous soldier, who was eyeing the woman with her dead child.

There was frequent, panicked chatter coming from his walkie-talkie. My field of vision was blocked by two more soldiers, so I turned to face Mint and Charlie, who were both as shocked as I was. Abigail was sobbing quietly. Charlie hushed her, and whispered words of reassurance to her.

"Shit…" Mint whispered in a raspy tone, "…Christ."

He placed both of his hands on the back of his head and exhaled deeply.

"Move along, please." the soldier ordered once again. We slowly moved a couple of metres towards the family in front of us.

"This is insane…" Mint said, "That was just a kid."

"What sick monster would want to be responsible for a child's death?" I asked myself out loud, though a part of me said that the child was already dead and that none of the soldiers wanted to do what needed to be done.

"Excuse me…" I turned around. There were two shady looking men behind Charlie; each of them had a child which they were holding close to them.

"Would you be so kind to let us through? We have children with us," asked the more bulky man. He didn't have a single strand of hair on his head, and instead he had a single scar which ran through the top. He spoke with a thick Liverpool accent.

"Uh…" I stammered.

"Sorry, but no – we were here first," Mint replied firmly. The man frowned.

"What he meant to say;" Charlie quickly interrupted, "we understand that you have children with you, but look around – the majority of people here do, too; I have one, the family in front of us has a little girl, there's…" the other man, who was less bulky but nonetheless muscular, pulled out a pistol from under his dark leather coat. Abigail shrieked, and then buried her head into Charlie's chest. My heart skipped a beat.

"We're not asking, you little brat. Now get out of our way before I put a bullet through your stupid head." We had no choice but to comply.

"Alright, alright…" said Charlie. They men shoved us out of their way, and proceeded onto the family of five in front of us.

"Selfish idiots…" Mint jeered. Charlie attempted to comfort Abigail.

"Mint, keep it down, they could've heard you…" I said.

"Yeah, well they didn't."

The two shady looking men passed through the family of five in front of us with no resistance.

"Well, damn, they did it to them too." Mint stated.

The family turned their heads towards us.

"You, too?" asked the older male. He looked to be in his mid-50s or so. He had hardly any hair, and the small amount that he did have was grey.

"Did he threaten you with a gun?" Mint asked.

"After we told them 'no' he did." replied the older female. She, unlike the man, had long brown hair, which seemed to be greying from the roots. She also had a young girl close by her side.

"I tried to reason with him, but he withdrew his weapon almost immediately," Charlie recalled.

"Hope he doesn't use it," the male said, eyeing the two men closely. He turned to face us again, "What are your names?" he asked.

"Mint."

"I'm Hassan."

"Charlie, this is my little sister, Abigail."

"That's a lovely name," the woman inquired, smiling, despite the circumstances.

"What about you guys?" asked Mint.

"John Harrison, pleased to meet you," he said.

"Emily," she said, "This is my son."

"I'm Daniel," said a tall, muscular boy; he had spiky, mousy brown hair, and he was wearing slightly ripped blue jeans and a stained camo-patterned tank top. His facial features made an uncanny resemblance to John's, which made it impossible for anyone not to realise they were father and son. He had backpack glued to his shoulders, and carried hand luggage.

"This is Jess," Emily said, gesturing to a black-haired, slender-figured girl, who wore black skin-tight jeans, and a purple top which was complimented by a black leather jacket. Her wavy hair reached down to below her ribcage; her eyes were a sapphire blue. Her facial features resembled her father's. She gave a shy, but forced weak smile. Something told me she had seen a fair share of chaos.

"And this," Emily continued, "is Rosie, our youngest."

Rosie was the spit of her mother – the same brown hair, the same facial features except for her hazel eyes, which she shared with her father. Most of her body was concealed by a large white coat. She looked terrified to say the least. Emily lifted her up.

"Where are your parents?" John asked. Mint's head sank low.

"France," he said with a sad snigger. Mint's parents had left days prior to the outbreak, for what they referred to as a "well-deserved time off". I dreaded to think what was happening in France.

"Well, I'm sure they're okay," Emily replied in a vain attempt of reassurance. It didn't help with all of the ambient commotion.

"Yeah, thanks," Mint replied disconsolately.

"Charlie?"

He covered Abigail's ears. "They went somewhere - I don't know where, though. We were in the hospital before coming here, and... I'm just glad we're here. They left Abigail with me."

John and Emily shared a look. They were probably thinking what I had thought when Charlie had told me about his parents. Why the hell had they left him to look after his sister by himself?

"The government can sort this out, though – can't they?" Mint asked with a shimmer of hope in his eye. Emily and John looked at each other again. I gazed at the ground, hoping to have some kind of an epiphany.

"Maybe, Mint. We'll see – it's just a matter of time," Charlie replied, breaking the sad silence. Mint released a deep sigh. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"What about your parents, Hassan? Are they safe?" asked John.

"Well…" I was cut off almost instantly – there was an ear-splitting explosion from somewhere very close, sending shivers down my spine, and causing distraught within the crowd.

"Report," a soldier nearby barked into a handset.

"…has been breached, I s... the perimeter has been breached!" came the crackling response from the walkie-talkie. There was panic from those within earshot of the soldier. That panic spread among the crowd as gunfire erupted somewhere to our left. There was chaos, as the helicopters began to take off with or without passengers – they left us for dead.

"No!" Mint shouted.

"Oh dear, it's too late!" Emily shouted in panic.

I noticed two black clad figures firing at a stationary helicopter, then pulling out its dead pilot. As they came into the light, I realised that they were the shady looking men from before, and before I knew it they had the helicopter up and into the air.

"It's them!" I shouted, but not loud enough for anyone to be able to hear me. "But where are the childre…"

I spotted their lifeless forms slumped on the dirty ground and realised – they had been dead the whole time. _Those sick bastards…_I thought. Before I knew it, there was a another sudden, deafening explosion, followed by an intense heat wave as their helicopter swerved out of control and collided with a nearby structure, crushing those unfortunate enough to be in its proximity.

By then, all of the helicopters had taken off, and it seemed to be every man for himself.

"Quickly, come with us!" John yelled.

"I'll take your things!" Daniel shouted, relieving Charlie of his heavy backpack. Without giving it a second thought, we followed the family closely, in hope of finding somewhere safe.

All around us, people were running and screaming and soldiers were firing indiscriminately at anything that moved. Among the running figures were others who shuffled at a slow limp, grabbing out at anything. I prayed that John had a plan, because I didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Post Mortem Happening**

**Chapter II - The Hospital**

**Earlier the same week, 17:56 pm**

(Thanks to freddyburn for beta-reading this chapter)

"This way," Dad said through his mask.

He was leading us through the claustrophobic hallway; patients - and presumably their loved ones - were either lying on the floor with their backs slumped against the cold walls, sitting in chairs, or sat in wheelchairs due to lack of seating accommodation. Others were walking slowly around, determined to speak to a nurse or doctor, who seemed to be scarce. The tension was thick in the atmosphere; I could easily choke on it. Everyone looked anxious, even the soldiers and the hazmat suited ones looked nervous. People were crying, hyperventilated, coughing, and there were children wining and sobbing – luckily, Abigail, who was clinging to my chest, wasn't – thank goodness. The stress of a screaming child would only intensify the pressure, and that was the last thing I needed above all of the fear, anger and desperation.

A door to our left swung open, causing a hooded-teen who was leaning on it to stumble backwards. "Sorry, sorry..." muttered the panicked nurse who scurried out of the room, beads of sweat on her pale face. She was clutching her sleeve, concealing a growing blood stain.

'Oh no!' I thought to myself, 'was she bitten by one of them?'

I had heard of people coming back after being attacked. I hoped this wasn't the case with the young nurse. She hurried to a man in a hazmat suit, talking fast whilst sobbing, but I couldn't hear what she was saying over the commotion.

My foot caught on something and I almost fell forward.

"Oops, sorry Abi," I whispered through the mask on my face, glancing back – what I saw sent a shiver through my spine. A white blanket soaked in dry blood was concealing a body, except for a deathly pale hand sticking out underneath it. I gasped in shock as I saw the fingers on the supposedly dead corpse's hand twitch, and I gravely hoped I was hallucinating, but the arm began to move. The dark-skinned young-man unfortunate to be in front of it looked over at me, puzzled, until he noticed what I was looking at, and slowly stood up with a look of pure horror on his face, and quickly turned in the opposite direction, clutching his side and walking away fast.

"Oh crap..." I whispered in despair. Abigail looked up at me, then at the twitching corpse.

"Charlie!" Mum called, holding her mask in place. "Come on!" I ran to catch up with them.

"Charlie, what's happening? I'm scared..." Abigail asked innocently, her voice trembling.

"Nothing sweetheart, everything's absolutely fine, people are just very sick, that's all. Nothing to worry about," Mum answered before I could open my mouth.

I glared at her. I covered Abigail's ears. "You can't keep telling us that. I'm sick of this," I said through clenched teeth, anger building up in me. "I just saw a corpses hand move – this place is going to be overrun, just like everywhere else," I continued.

"Charlie," Dad said, facing me. "We are almost there. Just have patience."

"I've always had patience! All the time, you say: 'Oh Charlie, be patient' or 'not right now Charlie' and I'm goddamn sick of it! The dead are walking around, attacking people, and you're still telling me to be patient, after everything we've seen?! After all poor Abigail has had to go through?!" I started to yell, attracting the attention of others around us.

"We are doing this FOR both of you, to keep you SAFE. This is important, okay?" Dad replied firmly, but calm, though I could sense his agitation, and fear. "I'm sorry for those other times, but right now, what we're trying to do, this is important. So please, bear with us. We're as scared as you are, Charlie."

We looked at each other for a while. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and then nodded. Dad smiled, patting my shoulder, and then ruffling Abigail's hair. "Let's go."

I followed them through the halls, past a squad of soldiers and dozens of other people, and then into a room labelled 143. Dad opened the door quickly, waiting until Mum and I were safely inside of the room, where there was a man lying in the bed, aged perhaps in his late 50s. He smiled as soon as we entered, sitting up. There were flowers on his bedside table.

"Holly, Aaron, you made it," he said weakly.

Dad took off his mask, followed by mum and me. I didn't risk taking off Abigail's – she was my priority.

"Steve, I'm glad you're okay," Dad remarked, shaking his hand.

"I was afraid that the soldiers were restricting access."

"No – but I think they're going to clear soon," Dad replied.

I looked up at the mention of the word "clear." My eyes went wide.

"Clear?" I asked my heart racing.

"This must be Charlie, and... Abigail, am I correct?"

"Yes this –"

"Clear? What does that mean, clear?" I pressed. They all looked at each other, a stern look on their face. There was a pause.

"Anyone want to volunteer to answer?" I asked sarcastically.

"They need to contain the spread, Charlie."

"And how exactly?" I asked, though I could guess what it meant.

"Their... orders are to kill anyone who has a fever of some sort, since it's likely they had come into contact with the dead. They evacuate everyone else," Steve replied. "I don't know if I'm part of the process or not."

"We'll do what we can to take you out, but for now," Dad replied, "have they confirmed the... theory?"

Steven only had to look at the ground sadly to answer his question, whatever it was.

Mum was shocked. "Aaron, is it true?"

"I'm afraid so," Steven replied. She placed her hand over her mouth, and then looked at me and Abigail.

"Come here, Charlie," she sobbed, holding her arms out. I walked over to her, hugging her tightly.

"Mum, what's confirmed? What's happening?"

"I just want you to be safe, okay? I'll try and find you no matter what, I promise," she replied through her sobs.

"Holly..." dad interrupted, his voice trembling, too, but he was cut off by a series of screams from outside, then a series of gunshots.

"They're starting to clear," Dad said suddenly, quickly pushing the wheelchair next to Steven's bed, then helping him to get on. Mum wiped her tears away.

"It's fine, we'll be safe."

Her attempt to reassure us was weak at best. She put on her mask, and then handed one over to Steven.

"Abigail, just keep looking at me, okay?"

I said, then covering her ears again after she nodded. I gave her a weak smile, put on my mask, then followed the three out of the room, with dad pushing Steven on the wheelchair. Gunshots resonated around the hallway. An Asian man carrying a young boy who was covered in blood rushed past us. There was a loud wailing sound outside the building, what sounded like an air raid siren which failed to cover the prominent sound of screams and gunshots reverberating around the confined space of the hallways. I heard shouting behind me – looking back, I saw a squad of five soldiers facing the Asian man who just ran past us with presumably his child.

"No, please, he's my child!" I heard him plead, crying hysterically.

A solider pushed him into the wall hard, causing the boy to fall on the hard floor.

"PLEASE!" I heard him plead for one last time, before I quickly faced the direction my parents had went, then heard a series of gunshots, and a bloodcurdling scream. A single tear of sympathy mixed with terror rolled down my cheek, which Abigail wiped away with her soft hands. Mum grabbed hold of my free-hand, tears rolling down her cheeks. We followed dad through the narrow hallway, past several bodies with two inch holes imbedded in their foreheads, others in their centre mass. I looked away quickly.

Suddenly, a soldier rushed out of a room on our right, then saw us and raised his weapon. He was trembling.

"H-hey! Stop right there!" he yelled, holding out his hand, aiming his pistol at Steven.

"There's no need, he hasn't been in contact with anyone but us," Dad reasoned.

"I said stay right there!"

He aimed his gun at Steven, still shivering from fear I assumed, but this apparently outweighed his sense of empathy. Abruptly, a pair of hands grabbed him from the room which he had just exited – his fingers slipped, and his gun fired – I ducked as the bullets hit wall and the ceiling. The soldier smacked his gun on the corpse's head, and then fired two rounds into its skull. I stood up to see a young, teenage girl lying on the floor, her eye missing from the gunshot wound, another implanted in her forehead. She was pale, and her other eye was clouded. I stared in horror.

The solider took a few steps backwards, slumping against the wall, and taking off his mask, revealing the look of horror on his face – he must have been in his late teens, or early twenties at most. He slowly raised the pistol to his head.

"Charlie, look the other way quickly!" Dad shouted, shielding us from him, before a gunshot rang through the hallway.

"Just – look in the opposite direction, don't turn around!" Dad yelled. I heard him pick the gun off the floor, and checking the magazine.

"Come this way – don't turn around."

He said firmly, mum was holding on to me tightly, not wanting to look either, silently sobbing.

"Aaron, you should leave me, I'm only going to slow you down," Steven said.

"No! I'm not leaving you, we need you, Steven. I promised I would get you out of here, and I'm not breaking that promise – not now," Dad insisted.

We proceeded to go back the way we came from, I was dreading it. What had the soldiers done to all of those people in the hallway? There were young children amongst those people, many of whom looked sick.

"Dad we can't go that way... there was people there – what if we can't get past?" I asked.

"I don't think they'd execute people in the hallways, they'd take them to the disease tents, or to the loading trucks."

Making sure Abigail's ears were covered, I replied, "I just saw a man and his son – Abigail's age – get slammed against the wall and shot. A young boy."

"Charlie, the soldiers are people too – they're panicking like us, because we are all incredibly scared right now, we need to stay calm so we don't have a reason to worry them anymore than they are right now. Okay?"

"So how do we do that?"

"Maybe," Steven began, shifting in his wheelchair, "if we show them our ID, they'll let us pass."

"That...could work," Dad replied, quickly shoving his hand down his pockets, and pulling out a card, holding it tightly, pushing the wheelchair faster.

"Hold on, Steve."

We followed closely, eventually rounding the corner and into the hallway we had just come from. The corpse I had seen move earlier was uncovered, lying on top of an old man in a hospital gown, blood covering it – both had two bloody holes in their heads, with blood splattered on the wall behind them, and a mixture of maroon and dark brown blood pooled on the floor. A thick layer of smoke filled the hallway. I made out the figure of a hazmat suit and a couple of soldiers pushing a group of civilians into a corridor, out of our line of sight, and the soldiers then opened fire, disappearing amidst the thickening smoke.

"Holly, take the wheelchair. Charlie, stay close," Dad said, holding the pistol high and leading us through the smoke, checking each room which had its door open, and any corners. Gunfire rang through the corridor to our right, more from behind us. We reached the end of the corridor, and then turned left to proceed towards the waiting room. Behind me, a door swung open, and out of it ran a tall, dark woman, blood covering her hands, one of which was clutching her bleeding lower arm, breathing heavily. She caught sight of me, her teary eyes pleading for help, until a bulky figure from behind her pulled her down, then sank its face into her exposed neck, causing blood to splatter- she was unable to produce any sound, only a sickening, raspy scream, until she choked on her own blood, as another figure slammed onto the ground next to her and began to grind his teeth into her arm.

Disgusted and my heart racing, I held onto my mother's arm. I looked down at Abigail, who was sobbing quietly, but still looking up at me.

"Keep looking at me Abigail, that's a good girl," I said, softly kissed her forehead.

As we ran into the waiting room, a squad of six soldiers escorted a doctor, and presumably his wife and two children towards the exit door. He was wearing a mask, like his family, which concealed most of their faces.

"What about my patients?" he asked in a loud voice above the noise of the helicopters, sirens and gunfire from outside.

"Sir, you need to leave now – your patients will be taken care of," one of the soldiers replied.

"But they're not infected – they haven't any bite marks, nor have they had any contact with the dead."

The soldiers ignored his protests, and ushered him outside. Behind us, a team of two men in hazmats and four armed soldiers rushed through the doors, with at least seven people, looking weak and barely able to walk, towards the exit.

"Delta-two, the patients have not been in contact with the dead," one of the hazmat suited men informed the other squad.

"He's right, they're absolutely fine, please don't!" the doctor pleaded, before being pushed out of the doors.

"Our orders are to CLEAR, and we do that, solider, do you copy?" one of the soldiers shouted.

Dad pulled me along, bringing my attention to the main objective, which was to exit the hospital. "Charlie, what are you waiting for? Hurry!"

Looking outside, I saw a bus half full with passengers. Mum carefully pushed the wheelchair down the small flight of stairs and we finally pushed open the doors of the hospital. A dozen hazmat suits rushed into the hospital, carrying stretchers, followed by two squads of armed soldiers, with all sorts of chatter coming from their radios. Dad put the pistol in his pocket as we reached the bus, took off his mask, then helped Steven on board the bus, which in the driver's seat was sat a young, nervous soldier, an assault rifle close next to him.

"Woah, hold it!" he shouted, standing up, his hand on his weapon.

"Every sick patient belongs in the disease tents, n-not here!" he yelled, stammering slightly.

"He's not sick, and please calm down," Dad replied, pulling out his ID card and showing it to the solider, who displayed a strong sense of relief and dropped his weapon.

"Thank God..." he said.

"You know what's going on then? You're trying to... fix it or – or find a cure or something, yeah?" he asked anxiously.

"We will be able to once you get us to the evacuation zone," Dad replied.

"Yes, sir, of course, right away," the solider responded fast, sitting back down in his seat. Dad set Steven down in a seat next to him.

"Ah – thank you Aaron."

I sat down next to the window, with mum next to me. I took one last look at the hospital – the doctor we saw from moments ago boarded the bus with his family, and his accompanying squad entering a vehicle parked behind the bus. His patients were lined up against the wall, one by one, one of them crying, pleading with one of the soldiers, and another resisting – he grabbed one of the soldier's mask, but then was shoved into the wall, and the soldiers opened fire, blood splattering against the walls, their bodies falling, slumping against the walls and onto the bloody floor. One of them pulled out a pistol, and fired at each of the deceased patients' heads, bloody matter erupting from the gunshot wounds. Abigail turned to face the hospital, but I quickly shielded her eyes.

"No Abigail, don't look," I watched in disgust as men in hazmat suits dragged their bodies to the side, all piled on each other then dropping a thick sheet on top, which concealed the fact that bullet-riddled bodies were hidden underneath.

The bus drove off, and moved away from the hospital, which was surrounded by disease tents and body bags, ambulances with paramedics attending to whoever was inside and the bodies of the roamers on the street, their heads ripped apart by the weapons of the military. The only sounds to be heard were distant gunfire, screams, and the emergency service sirens. Overhead, helicopters were flying around and jet planes were soaring through the skies. Inside the bus, people were panicked, crying and recalling the bizarre and horrific events of the past couple of weeks. You could say they were been herded around like cattle, but I thought they were more like fungi—kept in the dark and feed on bull-crap. Next to me, mum was sobbing quietly, hugging me and Abigail. The driver was listening closely to the radio: "This is an emergency broadcast: we advise anyone in the vicinity of Greater Manchester and its surrounding areas to immediately head over to the refugee center in the city, where there is guaranteed military protection, medical supplies and vaccinations, and periodic evacuations. Public transport services will be available to transfer people directly to safe zones and medical supply centers, and such services include the Metrolink which is operational in the following destinations: Altrincham, Eccles, Bury, Rochdale, Ashton-under-Lyne and East Didsbury; and all major bus stations within 10 kilometers of the city center are also operational. ".

Apart from the constant, low babble of the radio, we drove in silence and that really didn't help. We passed one group of roamers who were chasing a cat. The cat was fast enough to make in part way up a wall when a tall roamer managed to grab it around the middle and pulled it back into the moaning horde. Even inside the bus, we could hear the cat yowl in fear and pain. On another street, we passed a group of boys who had been cornered by another horde. The smallest of them, maybe thirteen or fourteen, managed to wriggle through the legs of the group of attackers. He only managed to make it because the football jersey he wore was so large that when it was grabbed, he was able to wriggle out. He took off down the road, shirtless, while the mob descended on his friends. Their screams seemed to break some of the more stoic people on the bus, who started crying. I looked away from the scene, which we seemed to be passing at an obscenely slow pace, and my eyes followed the shirtless boy. He had made a wide arc around the street, and was now running towards us on the opposite side of the street, waving his arms. He managed to grab the handle to the emergency door, and the old man sitting beside it let him in, before throwing a blanket over him.

'Don't tell the guards,' he mouthed.


End file.
